The easel has spoken, womb-watchers. Kate, who refused to let her poshness get in the way of a good push, has lost at least eight pounds of babyweight this evening, and the royal gynaecologist, a job title which up until recently only existed in our wildest and most depraved of dreams, has brought forth an heir. As he is held up to her subjects a la The Lion King, we duly frolic and rejoice like the animals that we are.

Yes, to see a girl become heir to the throne following a historic change in legislation would have felt like a victory of sorts, even for those of us who would prefer not to have a monarchy at all. There are few times one gets to see a woman in power. Nonetheless, to contradict The Great Gatsby's Daisy Buchanan, I for one am glad that it's a boy.

We know from previous experience that royals inevitably grow up as either tabloid fodder (girl) or cannon fodder (boy), although in neither case are you permitted to see too much action. This baby faced an insane amount of scrutiny in utero, including, in a desperate attempt to fill the no news vacuum, an article claiming that he was related to Blue Ivy, the daughter of Jay-Z and Beyoncé (but only inasmuch as he would be theoretically related to every person on the planet, including unwashed plebs such as you and me). Now the princess has superseded her 265th cousin Blue, and as puns about "crowning" abound, the shoehorned press releases begin to trickle through like afterbirth. One notable favourite was an advert for Wimpy depicting a half-full English breakfast accompanied by the slogan: "A great morning start for a royal baby". I think I speak for many of us when I say that, much like the heir to the throne, I'd rather ingest breast milk than anything from Wimpy.

When you have a little princess, it would not only have been imperative that she avoid trans fats but also that you parade her as an accessory, at least until she is old enough to become a fashion icon herself (three). A female heir would have faced the same fate as Harper Beckham or Suri Cruise – a double-page spread in Grazia followed by the inevitable "all grown-up" tabloid perv-fest in the teenage years, or else her privacy-conscious mother would have paid the price. Her every move, outfit and gesture would have been ruthlessly documented – and God forbid she pulled a Beatrice and did something as risqué as wear a hat that looked like an octopus wrestling with its own intestines.

So it's a relief to know that it's a boy and that he has been spared the Daily Mail sidebar of shame unless hand in hand with his immaculately dressed mother. Growing up is, in many ways, one of the most poignant tragedies we suffer. There's something inherently devastating about the fact that you will never experience such levels of beatific innocence again, although admittedly there are plus sides, such as no longer having to take a bath with your dad.

There's always been a feeling that, even in childhood, and especially for girls, royalty are fair game. It's a privilege to be posh, granted, but less so if you're a girl, a future monarch, and, worst of all, a "damn fine filly". In this world where you can no longer get your tits out while on holiday in the south of France, we know that the media would not have stayed away. The kind of minutiae that, 30 years ago, would have been limited to the back pages of Tatler is now front-page news. Auntie Pippa has a Facebook group dedicated to the appreciation of her arse that has nearly a quarter of a million members.

No woman, whether of royal birth or not, has had her every outfit, her every move documented to the extent of that this little boy's mum has. Though most of the coverage has been kind, we need only look to precedent for evidence that it rarely lasts. I am relieved that he has been spared that fate, at least to an extent.

Royal women rarely give their opinion in public, and who can blame them? Hilary Mantel described Kate's image as that of a shop mannequin; I imagine this is by both the royals' and the media's design. Her apparent lack of personality protects her from the glare, but equally, focusing on what she wears distracts many of us from asking just what it is that she does. In this sense, the superficiality of the sexist coverage can have its advantages. But still, a voice is a voice, and better to be in possession of one than not. It is a luxury. You are lucky, little prince, not to have to stomach the twin tyrannies of the blow dry and the side salad. To not be constantly examined and fetishised and speculated upon. If I were you I'd take full advantage of it, and have chips with everything.

Pete Cashmore: The new royal baby's uncle has promised him some good times, but judging by what Prince Harry has got up to in the past, he won't be the typical babysitter. We wonder what he has in mind